Here's the most recent list I compiled for Crypticon.
As with most previous lists, I started with a preliminary list before turning to social media to crowd-source for more. I'm grateful to everyone who contributed suggestions.
What counts: cats, dogs, guinea pigs, hamsters, mice, rabbits, rats, etc.
What doesn't: chickens, cows, horses, pigs, and other farm animals.
What about invertebrates? Furry mammals preferred!
Features Michael Jackson's most touching love song!
The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963)
The lovebirds!
The Black Cat (Lucio Fulci, 1980)
C-D
The Cat (Lam Nai-Choi, 1982)
Cat's Eye (Lewis Teague, 1985)
Cat People (Jacques Tourneur, 1942)
Critters (Stephen Herek, 1986)
Cujo (Lewis Teague, 1983)
Based on the 1981 Stephen King novel
The Curse of the Cat People (Gunther von Fritsch and Robert Wise, 1944)
Dogs (Burt Brinckerhoff, 1977)
Eye of the Cat (David Lowell Rich, 1969)
G-I
Good Boy (Ben Leonberg, 2025)
Indy, the golden retriever (pictured above right)
Gremlins (Joe Dante, 1984)
The Hidden (Jack Sholder, 1987)
The Hills Have Eyes (Wes Craven, 1977)\
The Hills Have Eyes (Alejandro Aja, remake, 2006)
The Hills Have Eyes Part II (Wes Craven, 1985)
House/Hausu (Nobuhiko Ôbayashi, 1977)
If I Had Legs I’d Kick You (Mary Bronstein, 2025)
The hamster!
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (Philip Kaufman, 1978)
K-P
Kuroneko (Kaneto Shindo, 1968)
Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson, 2008)
Weird CGI cat attack
Lost Boys (Joel Schumacher, 1987)
Monkey Shines (George Romero, 1988)
A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge (Jack Sholder, 1985)
The Pack (Robert Clouse, 1977)
The Pack (Nick Robertson, not a remake, 2015)
Pet Sematary (Mary Lambert, original, 1989)
Pet Sematary (Kevin Kolsch and Dennis Widmyer, remake, 2019)
Based on the 1983 Stephen King novel
The Plague Dogs (Martin Rosen, animated, 1982)
Poltergeist (Tobe Hooper, 1982)
Primate (Johannes Roberts, 2025)
S-T
The Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991)
Darla, Buffalo Bill’s Bichon Frisé
Sleepwalkers (Mick Garris, 1992)
Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1978)
Albert, the blind pianist's German Shepherd
Tales from the Darkside: The Movie (John Harrison, 1990)
David Johansen fights a cat!
They Only Kill Their Masters (James Goldstone, 1972)
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)
The Tomb of Ligeia (1964)
V-Z
The Voices (Marjane Satrapi, 2014)
White God (Kornél Mundruczó, Hungarian, 2014)
Willard (Daniel Mann, 1971)
Ben, the rat, pictured above left with Bruce Davison as Willard
The Crypticon Seattle panel Good Boy! (Pets in Horror) takes place on Sat, May 2, at 3pm with moderator Brien Gorham and panelists Todd Johnston, Eric Li, and me. Click here for tickets and more information.
Images from Bloody Disgusting (Sigourney Weaver with Jonesy in Alien), The Guardian (Indy in Good Boy), and the IMDb (Willard poster).
THE CHRISTOPHERS (Steven Soderbergh, 2025, UK, 100 minutes)
Someday, everything is gonna be diff’rent When I paint my masterpiece –Bob Dylan (1971)
The Christophers is a film about art and commerce, and the ways in which they're at cross purposes. It's also Steven Soderbergh's second London film in a row after last year's stylish Black Bag with Michael Fassbender and Cate Blanchett as married intelligence officers, and the city suits him well.
Granted, the two films don't have much in common, other than that they aim to keep you guessing from start to finish, except the former is a romantic thriller, in the vein of 1998's Out of Sight, whereas The Christophers isn't a thriller at all, though it doesn't lack for low-key thrills.
Lori Butler (Michaela Cole, whose sculptural face is a work of art), an exacting woman in her thirties, works as a food cart vendor. She isn't miserable necessarily, but her life hasn't turned out the way she imagined.
One day, from out of the blue, she gets a call from a former art school classmate with an offer she can't refuse--even if it makes her queasy.
Sallie (Baby Reindeer's Jessica Gunning) and her brother, Barnaby (a perfectly-cast James Corden in a ridiculous patchwork shirt), would like her to complete The Christophers, their elderly father's famously unfinished third series of paintings under that name. Completed canvases in the previous series have sold exceptionally well, and this one will be worth even more after he kicks the bucket. They describe it as a restoration job--Lori has a sideline in art restoration--except they're really asking her to engage in forgery. They figure she won't mind, since he once humiliated her in public.
Their father, Julian Sklar (Ian McKellen in top form) is retired and in declining health, so they plan to pass Lori off as an assistant, so she can gain access to The Christophers and finish them using his original paints and brushes. They neglect to tell her that he can't stand them, and considering that they see him primarily as a flesh-and-blood ATM machine, it isn't hard to see why (to be fair, he also appears to have been a pretty lousy father).
While Lori lives in shared housing with other struggling artists, Julian lives in two side-by-side walk-ups in Fitzrovia filled with art and the detritus of a long life. When they first meet, he doesn't appear to remember her from their long-ago encounter. In fact, it's unclear whether he's eccentric or suffering from dementia. He's sharp in some ways, less so in others.
Lori makes herself useful, though she finds him exhausting. He's so verbose and inappropriately revealing, she can't get a word in edgewise, though she soaks up every detail. The actors generate a palpable friction, while the characters have only their passion for art in common. That's about it. The tension isn't about age or race, but sensibility, since she's a 21st-century woman, while he clings to the politically-incorrect norms of the past.
In a way, though, they're both acting. As Ed Solomon's twisty screenplay continues, he doles out more and more details about two people who aren't as different from each other as they at first appear. Not least because Julian isn't as oblivious as he seems; he's also convinced that his kids had an ulterior motive in hiring Lori. He's not sure what it is, but he suspects that it involves The Christophers, so when he asks her to burn them in the firepit, it's hard to tell if he's testing her--to see if she'll resist--or whether he simply wants them out of his life for reasons that will be revealed later.
In a manner of speaking, the film is a cat and mouse game, because Lori and Julian have clashing interests and intentions, though they both prove pretty proficient at subterfuge. It's one of the film’s biggest strengths: they're intelligent people, and Solomon, who wrote Soderbergh's terrific Detroit gangster picture No Sudden Move, assumes you are, too. Granted, he's also known for Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Men in Black, and there's plenty of snap and crackle to the screwball-adjacent dialogue.
Solomon also doesn't believe in giving everything away. Julian had a wife and children at a time when many gay men, even those in London's artistic demimonde, lived outwardly as heterosexuals (prior to 1967's Sexual Offences Act, homosexuality was essentially illegal in the UK). He considers it a badge of pride that he was bisexual "when it actually cost you something," though I suspect he was as "bisexual" as Elton John in the 1970s, i.e. not very. We never find out Lori's sexual orientation.
And nor does it matter.
Lori's feelings about art matter more, and over the years, she went from being a Julian admirer to a critic as he squandered his talent, but at least he had some, whereas she specializes in convincingly copying other artists. It's a skill to be sure, but it isn't exactly art--not even by her own standards.
For all their differences, though, they're lonely in their own unique ways, but not enough to admit that they would rather have a worthy opponent with whom to spar than an assortment of unworthies. If they never become friends in the conventional sense, they become something just as valuable.
Wikipedia describes The Christophers as a black comedy. I wouldn't, though the back-and-forth is frequently quite funny, and rarely in an obvious way.
Sometimes Coel, who plays a fairly humorless character, gets a laugh simply by the way Lori reacts--or doesn't react--to her employer's shameless proclamations and his children's slippery prevarications. Her performance here is nothing like the work she did in her brightly-hued council estate comedy Chewing Gum, though never as dark as anything in I May Destroy You, her Emmy Award-winning exploration into life after sexual assault.
As different as those characters and those projects were, I would imagine Coel wrote them to her strengths–Chewing Gum was an extension of her 2012 one-woman play–whereas in the case of The Christophers, she excels as a once-promising artist stuck in as much of a rut as her 86-year-old sort-of mentor, though I don't believe Solomon wrote the role with her in mind.*
And I don't know if he wrote Julian with Ian McKellen in mind, but it's hard to imagine anyone else in the role, since he gets to use most every color in his considerable paintbox. It's been over a decade since I last saw him on the screen--in Bill Condon's touching Mr. Holmes--so he looks older than I remember, but there's a delightful sequence towards the end in which he rubs his hands together and skips about with glee, and I was reminded that he once appeared as a jaunty vampire in a Pet Shop Boys video.
By the end of the film, which never feels too stagey thanks to Soderbergh's deft direction and fluid camera work--as alter ego Peter Andrews--I was reminded of two other British two-handers, Harold Pinter's adaptation of Robin Maugham's The Servant and Ronald Harwood's The Dresser, even if this relationship isn't quite that antagonistic, though similar differentials are at play involving income, status, and ability (and McKellen appeared with Anthony Hopkins in Richard Eyre's BBC version of The Dresser in 2015).
The Christophers, however, isn't a tragedy. Sometimes a younger person can serve as a mentor or teacher as effectively as an older one, and sometimes the most challenging relationships can prove the most beneficial; the kind in which another person forces you to face the thing you least want to face--the thing you most need to face--and that will set you free in the end.
Once upon a time I assumed, like Lori, that I would become a professional artist. It didn't happen. I had bills to pay, and art wasn't going to get the job done. It doesn't happen for many people, but it made me particular about how art and artists are represented on screen, and Soderbergh's film, by way of Solomon's screenplay--as embodied by two terrific actors--is one of the best I've seen about the challenges and satisfactions of a life in art.
The Christophers opens at AMC Alderwood Mall on Sun, April 12, and SIFF Cinema Uptown on Thurs, April 16. Images from Blex Media (Ian McKellen and Michaela Coel), Film Streams (Jessica Gunning and James Corden), First Showing (McKellen) and Rotten Tomatoes (McKellen and Coel).
THE STRANGER / L'Étranger / الغريب (François Ozon, 2025, France, 122 minutes)
Standing on a beach With a gun in my hand Staring at the sea Staring at the sand –The Cure, "Killing an Arab" (1980)
Making a film out of Albert Camus' The Stranger is a bold move for any filmmaker, and François Ozon is also the first from France after adaptations by Turkish and Italian filmmakers, though it's not completely surprising that Italy's Luchino Visconti, a left-wing aesthete as fond of European literature as Ozon, gave it a go with a miscast Marcello Mastroianni in 1967.
Camus' novella takes place in Algiers, and centers on Meursault, a Bartleby-like office worker who feels no remorse after murdering a native Algerian in cold blood--in Visconti's film, he's described as a shipping clerk--but he doesn't feel all that great about it either. The author doesn't even give the victim a name; we only know him as the Arab, as if that's all he was.
The book is about the indifference of the universe, to be sure, but it's also about racism. Whether he cares or not, Meursault seems well aware that Arabs are second-class citizens.
Ozon begins his elegant black and white version with a brief newsreel about Algiers under French rule. Camus, who was born to Algerian parents of European descent, published The Stranger in 1942--though he wrote it years before--and died in a car accident 18 years later. Though he spent most of his adult life in France, he didn't live to see Algeria win its freedom in 1962. Ozon, whose grandfather had ties to the country, was born five years later.
After establishing Meursault's milieu, Ozon introduces the young man (played by Summer of 85's Benjamin Voisin, who recalls Breathless-era Belmondo from some angles) after he's brought in for questioning. He enters a holding cell filled with Arab men of various ages. When an older man asks about his crime, the sole white suspect states, "I killed an Arab."
Ozon then shows how we got here, but he's established who we're dealing with, except this isn't a murder mystery, and even the book's Meursault doesn't know exactly why he did what he did. He only knows that he did it.
The story begins, in earnest, when he receives a telegram stating that his mother has died.
In today's parlance, he might say, "It is what it is," but his non-reaction will come back to haunt him as he proceeds to go about his day. He smokes a cigarette, drinks a cup of coffee, shaves, gets dressed, and goes to work. People die every day, and his mother happened to be one of them, though he does put on a black arm band--at the insistence of a friend--which makes him seem more sympathetic than Camus's original conception. It also signals to the world that he has lost someone significant.
Later that day, he takes a bus to his mother's retirement home to keep vigil beside her coffin and attend the funeral. The caretaker, a kindly elderly gentleman (Jean-Claude Bolle-Reddat), sets him up with more coffee, and they share a smoke. During his overnight stay, he finds that his mother had many friends and admirers. (At the trial, his acceptance of coffee with milk will also be used against him; a sign of Algeria's then-inflexible traditions, since only black coffee was considered acceptable while mourning.)
If Meursault isn't sad, he isn't happy either; more like sanguine. Though I wouldn't describe The Stranger as autobiographical, Camus also lost his father, whom he never really knew, decades before his mother, but didn't attend her funeral because he died eight months before her, also in 1960
In the film, Meursault doesn't object to the Christian service, since it's what his mother would have wanted, even if her son--and the author who brought him to life--were atheists. Further, Ozon's By the Grace of God centers on men who had been sexually abused by a priest. Ozon was raised Catholic, but drifted away due to the Church's attitudes towards homosexuality. I don't know whether he's an atheist, but he's definitely not a Catholic.
More troubling, since we all mourn at our own pace, is the way Meursault looks at his mother's physically frail, emotionally devastated male companion with disdain.
Afterward, he returns to the city, where he reconnects with Marie (Rebecca Marder from Ozon's The Crime Is Mine and Sandrine Kiberlain's A Radiant Girl), a former typist at his firm, with whom he enjoys an afternoon swim and an evening comedy. There's a line in the film they see, 1938's The Schpountz, that's intended to be funny, though I don't know why. "All condemned men," exclaims Fernandel, "Will have their heads cut off!" He repeats it for emphasis. Meursault doesn't laugh. Though Marie does.
Other notable figures include Salamano (a grubby, touching Denis Lavant), a pensioner who has a love-hate relationship with his mangy mutt, and Raymond (Pierre Lottin from Ozon's When Fall Is Coming), a pimp who has a hate relationship with his Arab girlfriend, Djemila (Hajar Bouzaouit)--she's unnamed in the book--whose brother (Abderrahmane Dehkani) disapproves.
Meursault doesn't judge either man. As much as his radical honesty, his c'est la vie attitude ranks among his best and worst qualities. When the illiterate Raymond asks, he doesn't hesitate to write to Djemila on his behalf, despite the fact that it could lead to more abuse; further, he only has Raymond's word for it that she's unfaithful. In the moment, Meursault prioritizes his friend's need, even though he would never raise a hand to a woman.
If every character has a companion, each relationship is tainted--except possibly for his late mother's.
When widower Salamano's spaniel disappears, for instance, he's bereft even though he spent all his time insulting and even kicking the poor thing. Meursault's relationship with Marie seems idyllic compared to Raymond's, except the love only flows one way. It's not that Marie isn't lovable, but that Meursault isn't capable of love.
I recently came across a film review that describes Ozon's take on the character as neurodivergent, and although I can see why a writer in 2026 would say that, I don't see it that way. He is, instead, someone who is incapable of lying, no matter the cost. His very existence highlights the extent to which the world runs on lies. It is, in other words, an affront.
Since the first hour is essentially a flashback, Ozon occasionally returns to Meursault's time in the cave-like holding cell, except it doesn't add much, other than to remind us that his halcyon days in the sun with Marie will soon come to an end. No more smoking, no more drinking, no more swimming.
In the meantime, Raymond invites Meursault and Marie to join him for a beach-side rendezvous with another couple. Things are going splendidly until the three men run into Djemila's brother and another young man. A fight ensues, the brother slashes his arm, and the youths flee.
Though Meursault wasn't involved in the scuffle, it makes a mark on him as surely as the gash on Raymond's arm. It isn't his problem, but he feels the need to finish what they started, so he sets out, with Raymond's gun, to track the men down. When he finds Djemila's brother, he stares at him in a way that indicates he finds him attractive--this is a François Ozon film after all--and shoots him dead. And almost immediately fires four more shots.
Is Ozon suggesting that Meursault is a repressed homosexual? It's possible, though previous events contradict that reading. The quasi-sociopathic sensualist may not be capable of loving Marie, but he seems to genuinely enjoy sleeping with her. That's even more clear here than in the book, but with Ozon, who's to say: he has a knack for queering most every text.
Left: Frantz, Ozon's other great black and white adaptation
Shots fired, the flashback ends, past becomes prologue, and guards move Meursault to a cell where he meets with a lawyer who warns that the muted response to his mother's death may be used against him. Tellingly, he seems less concerned about the death of the Arab. It's almost as if the murder were pretext for stopping The Man Who Cannot Lie.
After all, the pied noir (European Algerians) of the time understood--and even excused--some forms of racism, but this was harder to comprehend.
Ozon aptly captures the trial's potent mix of comedy and pathos, though it does feature one of the film's few false notes, and that's when Marie has a brief exchange with Djemila. It wasn't in the book, and doesn't need to be in the film, not least because it spells too much out. We already know, by looking at their faces, what the women are feeling. And that's enough.
Though Meursault rejects the entreaties by a priest (played by Anatomy of a Fall's Swann Arlaud, who appeared in By the Grace of God), he won't take no for an answer, convinced that the convict is miserable, but in his way, he isn't. He committed a crime, he'll face punishment. He doesn't question this, and since he doesn't believe in God or sin, all the rest is noise.
All told, Ozon's adaptation, which is beautifully shot by DP Manu Dacosse--a favorite of Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani--and scored by Atlantics' Fatima Al Qadiri, is likely the best we'll ever get of this tough and thorny book, though it's the rare deviation, including a brief epilogue, that works the least well.
The cast, however, is spectacular. Benjamin Voisin, so good in Summer of 85 and even more impressive in Xavier Giannoli's Balzac adaptation, Lost Illusions, doesn't put a foot wrong, though he's almosttoo good looking for the role. Camus never describes Meursault's appearance, and though I doubt he envisioned someone quite so handsome, it's almost a requirement in order to explain Marie's attraction and to stave off audience revulsion.
In order to adapt the novella, Ozon sought approval from the author's daughter, Catherine Camus. About the film, she has stated, "A remarkable journey through my father's work, rendered with the utmost respect."
Of the three adaptations to date, it has received the most acclaim, though we'll never know what the version with Alain Delon might have looked like, since Visconti wasn't able to pull it off. Then again, Jef Costello, the taciturn hit man he plays in Melville's 1967 Le Samouraï has Meursault-like qualities (and I don't think it's a complete coincidence that Voisin also recalls Delon in Purple Noon). Instead, Visconti cast Marcello Mastroianni, a fabulous actor, but not quite right for the role, and at 43, older than Camus intended.
Voisin brings a certain ambiguity to Meursault that Mastroianni wasn't able to muster. The Frenchman's performance is so subtle that it's likely to be underrated, and at the 2026 César Awards, Pierre Lottin, also quite good, received the film's sole acting win. Nonetheless, Voisin's micro-expressions are ever-changing. His face is never a complete blank or mask, since he's always observing and processing, and only speaks when he has something to say.
The one time Meursault acts without thinking, he does something terrible. Whether it's the glint of the Arab's switchblade, the oppressive heat, his repressed desire, a delayed reaction to his mother's death, or a combination of all of these things, he seals his fate by taking another man's life.
I don't believe there's such a thing as a perfect film, not least when it comes to a landmark like The Stranger, but Francois Ozon's feel for the material, and especially the curious central character, comes through loud and clear, and I can't imagine a better version. It's truly one of the director's best.
Images from Gaumont (Benjamin Voisin, Pierre Lotin, and Voisin with Rebecca Marder), The New Yorker (Albert Camus as seen by Henri Cartier-Bresson / Magnum), Amazon (cover of the 1989 edition of The Stranger), New Zealand International Film Festival (Pierre Niney and Paula Beer in Frantz), and Screen International (Voisin contemplates the void).
"Redd Kross to me will always be one of the most important bands, not just in America, but in the world."--Thurston Moore
Nowadays it seems as if every recording artist, no matter how obscure, has their own documentary, because many do.
With a lot of enthusiasm and a little crowd-funding, an untrained director could shoot an entire film about their brother's band on an iPhone and make it available on YouTube or even Tubi. It might not be any good, but it can be done.
Redd Kross, on the other hand, has fully earned the documentary treatment. They never hit the highest of highs, but considering those who did--some of whom came crashing down with a thud--it feels like a blessing in disguise, because after nearly 50 years, the McDonald brothers are still here. Still writing, recording, and touring. And musically: they still have the goods.
They were also fortunate to join forces with Andrew Reich, an Emmy Award-winning filmmaker well suited to the task. Though Born Innocent marks Reich's directorial debut, he's an experienced television writer and producer (including seven seasons of Friends), a dedicated fan since the early-1980s, and a spectacularly determined individual, because the documentary was 10 years in the making, and it shows through Jeff's ever-changing hairstyles.
Reich begins at the beginning with a look at suburban Hawthorne, CA in the years after the Beach Boys put the town on the map–but once its best days were over.
He uses footage from Penelope Spheeris's 1983 streetpunk film Suburbia to depict the extent to which it had fallen into disrepair. As Redd Kross associate Chuck Kelley puts it, "The American Dream was over in Hawthorne." (Reich doesn't mention it, but Chuck worked at Video Archives with Quentin Tarantino, and served as a music consultant on 1994's Pulp Fiction.)
Jeff (born 1963) and Steve (1967) had a roof over their heads and supportive parents, both of whom appear in the film, so it wasn't all bad. At 15, Jeff was in middle school when they started making music together, which isn't unusual, but what was unusual is that Steve was only 11.
It wasn't just the beginning of the band--first known as the Tourists, then Red Cross, and finally Redd Kross--but the beginning of a run of drummers, which has continued throughout their career. In the film, each one who appears on screen has a number next to their name, like "Keith Morris (#1)," "Ron Reyes (#2)," and "Dez Cadena (#3)." If you know anything about the Southern California punk scene, you'll recognize those names immediately, since all three fronted Black Flag before moving on to other bands, like the Circle Jerks and OFF!, in which Steve, a widely-admired bass player, reunited with Morris while on an extended break from Redd Kross.
Though Jeff and Steve were inspired by proto-punks like the New York Dolls and Ramones--Tommy Erdelyi, aka Tommy Ramone, produced 1987's Neurotica--they skewed more pop than their punk peers. Their music was just as fast and loud, but less angry and more fun. In time, they would become a less-easy-to-classify garage/power-pop/psych-rock hybrid.
If they weren't the only So-Cal punks glued to the boob tube--Black Flag's 1981 "TV Party" is a case in point--they took things further as they melded references from 1960s and '70s sitcoms, like The Partridge Family and The Brady Bunch, and made-for-TV movies, like Born Innocentwith Linda Blair, into their work. Their cover of Boyce and Hart's "Blow You a Kiss in the Wind" on 1984's Teen Babes from Monsanto was directly inspired by the version sung by Elizabeth Montgomery, in her Serena guise, on Bewitched.
Beyond their obsession with self-described "psychotic garbage culture," they were relentless about calling and networking, and regional fame came early.
They were just getting their feet wet when Hollywood's Posh Boy Records came calling. Things got off to such an auspicious start that David Bowie showed up to their first gig. It's possible he was there to see Black Flag rather than Redd Kross, but it's likely he got to hear their beach movie-inspired classic "Annette's Got the Hits," a firm Rodney on the ROQ fave.
When fame comes fast for a band, though, there's always a dark cloud waiting around the bend. It's the way of the world, though nothing about Redd Kross conforms to cliché–there's often a twist–and at 13, Steve was kidnapped by a fan. It's amazing he emerged from the experience mostly unscathed. His abductor would not be so lucky.
The band would pick up where they left off, but they were growing tired of the whole punk thing, and set themselves apart by growing out their hair and their songs (by a minute or two). It wasn't the done thing at the time, at least not for musicians outside of the hard rock and hair metal scenes.
Unfortunately, Jeff also developed a serious drug problem. Though the brothers admit they were hopped up on speed while recording Teen Babes, things would become so bad for Jeff that he declines to go into any detail, while Steve is succinct: "It was a nightmare." It seems wise that Reich spoke to the brothers both together and separately, because Steve proves more forthcoming when it comes to their most painful experiences.
Left: Jim Blanchard poster for a 1987
KCMU-presented show at the Central Tavern
Though many fans assumed the band were hopped up on hallucinogens while recording Neurotica, their trippiest album, they actually made it after Jeff emerged from rehab.
Even if it features some of their catchiest melodies, the album made a big impact on the Seattle scene of the 1980s, possibly because they found the sweet spot (pun intended) between the tough, anthemic rock of KISS--they even covered "Deuce" on Teen Babes--and the bubblegum psych of Tommy James and the Shondells. That isn't to say they sounded like Cheap Trick or Sweet necessarily, but they're in the same ballpark, and their exuberant live shows went down a storm in the Pacific Northwest.
In the film, Reich speaks with a number of PNW (or former PNW) musicians, including Mark Arm and Steve Turner of Mudhoney, Buzz Osborne and Dale Crover of the Melvins (with whom Steve has played bass), Kim Thayil of Soundgarden, Jeff Ament of Pearl Jam, Matt Cameron of Soundgarden and Pearl Jam, and the entirety of the Fastbacks.
No one from Nirvana puts in an appearance, though the band, especially on 1991's Nevermind, came closest to forging a similar hard-meets-soft alchemy, but with less of the groovy, tambourine-bedecked vibe that set Redd Kross apart from the PNW milieu.
It's no surprise that major labels took notice, and the band signed with Atlantic, which released 1990's Third Eye, the album on which they adopted a more overtly peace-and-love look in combination with a cleaner sound.
I was pretty disappointed, and in retrospect, Jeff and Steve don't seem all that thrilled either, though hearing songs like "Annie's Gone" live really emphasizes the fact that sterile production rather than the songs or performances deserves the blame. (At the time, I was music director at KCMU, and though I added the album to rotation, the brothers saw my dispirited comment sticker while visting the station, and even quoted me on the air!)
In the '90s, they were hanging out with more of a movie-oriented crowd thanks to Steve's relationship with Sofia Coppola. In fact, that's her on the cover of Third Eye with a mask obscuring her face and strategically-arranged hair keeping the censors at bay, unlike the then-contemporaneous topless cover art for Jane's Addiction's Nothing's Shocking or Boss Hog's Drinkin', Lechin' & Lyin'. When sales didn't live up to Atlantic's expectations, the band segued to Mercury subsidiary This Way Up through which they released two more full-lengths, Phaseshifter and Show World, before packing it in.
The brothers were burned out, and went their separate ways. As they put it in a song off their first EP, "Burn out, something once for fun, burn out, now I can't get it done." That might have been the end of that, except it wasn't.
Just as drug addiction didn't destroy the band, an extended break didn't either. Granted, I wouldn't blame them for reforming simply to play some anniversary shows before going away again, but that's not what happened.
Instead they came roaring back with all-new material on their 2012 Merge Records debut, Rehearsing the Blues. They've since released a second album on the label and a double-LP set on In the Red. Though the pandemic put the kibosh on a tour behind 2019's Beyond the Door, they're on the road at the time of this writing and they'll be continuing on through late June.
There's a lot to like about Redd Kross, but until I watched this documentary I didn't appreciate what a significant role women have played in their musical lives. It's yet another characteristic that sets them apart both from their brethren in the So-Cal punk and PNW grunge scenes.
Consequently, a lot of women appear in the film, including Nina Gordon of Veruca Salt, Lulu Gargiulo and Kim Warnick of the Fastbacks, the late Kim Shattuck of the Pandoras and the Muffs, filmmaker Allison Anders, and Jeff's wife, Charlotte Caffey of the Go-Go's, and Steve's wife, Anna Waronker of that dog. Not too surprisingly, Jeff and Charlotte's daughter, Astrid McDonald, is a musician.
Even at the height of their glam era, I don't believe that Jeff and Steve cared that anyone might think they were gay or fey or girlish. Some speakers go so far as to claim that hair metal bands like Guns N' Roses and Poison took their cues from Redd Kross. I have no idea if this is true, but members of those Sunset Strip outfits were known to frequent their shows.
At 84 minutes, Born Innocent: The Redd Kross Story doesn't cover everything, but it's a fast-moving, entertaining ride that ends up being inspiring, and even a little touching, without any heavy-handedness on the part of either director or subjects, but fans will absolutely need the special edition home-video version, since the extras include a commentary track plus deeper dives into Jeff's record collection, their participation in Dave Markey's Lovedolls films, and live performances from most every stage of their career, including an unplugged living room session where it's just Jeff and Steve playing and singing super-catchy songs that will never grow old, no matter the vicissitudes of time and taste.
Born Innocent: The Redd Kross Story is out now on DVD and two-Blu-ray set through MVD. Additional extras include featurettes, reproductions of original handbills, and an essay from Andrew Reich. Also out: the band's oral history, Now You're One of Us, written with Dan Epstein. Images from the Born Innocent Kickstarter (poster image and "Burn Out" cover art), Al Flipside via Pop Matters (on stage in 1979), Hake's Auctions (Redd Kross "Linda Blair" poster), and Wanda Martin via Lyndsanity (Jeff and Steve in 2024).
Since I recently posted a list of Spanish horror films, I checked to see if any of my reviews of these and related titles had disappeared from the internet, and I found three. Not Forgotten wasn't made by a native Spanish speaker, but it fits in well enough in terms of cast and even director, since Paz Vega is Spanish, the film is set near the Mexican border, and Dror Soref is of Spanish descent.
THE ORPHANAGE / El Orfanato
(Juan Antonio Bayona, 2007, Spain, 105 minutes)
It's only his first feature film, but Spain's Juan Antonio Bayona [now known as JA Bayona] has already figured out the secret to a successful supernatural thriller--emphasize character over special effects. Like Walter Salles's 2005 Dark Water remake and Alejandro Amenábar's 2001 The Others, The Orphanage pivots on a pretty woman and an unusual child.
When her old orphanage goes on the market, Laura (Belén Rueda, Amenábar's The Sea Inside) and Carlos (Fernando Cayo) settle in with their son, Simón (Roger Príncep). Once acclimated to the remote seaside surroundings, they plan to re-open it as a home for special needs children.
Meanwhile, their seven-year-old doesn't know he's adopted or that he has a life-threatening illness. He does, however, have a lot of imaginary playmates. When Simón disappears without a trace, his parents contact the police, but to no avail. Because Laura has been hearing odd noises and having strange visions, including the one pictured above, they proceed to consult a medium.
Aurora (Geraldine Chaplin, speaking perfect Spanish) is convinced they aren't alone. Carlos has his doubts, but Laura makes like a detective and revisits her childhood--through photographs, home movies, and exploration of the spooky stone manor--to determine who or what abducted her son.
Produced and presented by Guillermo del Toro, The Orphanage is less fanciful than his works, though it does bear a vague resemblance to the ghostly Devil's Backbone. There are a few gory make-up effects, but Bayona mostly preys on our fear of the unknown to craft a first-rate fright fest.
NOT FORGOTTEN
(Dror Soref, 2009, USA,
96 minutes)
In sleepy Del Rio, near the border between Texas and Mexico, strange things are afoot.
In the scene-setting prologue, writer/director Dror Soref's supernatural-tinged mystery-thriller offers a glimpse of black magic and brutal murder before introducing Jack Bishop (The Mentalist's Simon Baker), a widowed loan officer, his beautiful Mexican-American wife, Amaya (Paz Vega, Sex and Lucia), and his rebellious 12-year-old daughter, Toby (Chloë Grace Moretz, who previously appeared with Baker on CBS series The Guardian).
After Toby disappears during soccer practice, the tight-knit townspeople come together to track her down. While the cops, including Amaya's cousin Casper Navarro (Michael DeLorenzo) and Detective Sanchez (The Shield's Benito Martinez), pursue leads, the media reports on the growing Santa Muerte sect (a Christo-Pagan religion centering on blood sacrifice), and Amaya persuades her skeptical husband to consult a South of the Border psychic. In the course of the various investigations, it transpires that Jack and Amaya have been hiding crucial details about their respective pasts.
After a slow and steady build-up, events take a turn for the weird and violent as Jack comes closer to finding his daughter at the same time the authorities come closer to finding out his true identity. Soref's second feature presents a twisted ride into the dark night of one man's divided soul. Best known for his amiable television work, the versatile Baker reveals a more intense side little seen since George Romero's 2005 Land of the Dead.
THE SKIN I LIVE IN / La Piel que Habito
(Pedro Almodóvar, 2011, Spain, 120 minutes)
For his maiden voyage into horror, Spanish maestro Pedro Almodóvar leaves the gore behind for a plunge into psychologically disturbing territory.
If the director suggests more than he shows, the human body still takes center stage, starting with Toledo plastic surgeon Robert Ledgard (a chillingly understated Antonio Banderas) who did his best to restore his wife to her former glory after a fiery car crash, but his efforts were in vain.
Since then, he's concentrated on perfecting a skin substitute that repels damage. Like Dr. Frankenstein, he's a single-minded obsessive, and even his housekeeper, Marilia (Marisa Paredes, in her fifth film with Almodóvar), describes him as "crazy," but that doesn't dim her devotion to him any less.
After tragedy re-enters Ledgard's life, he finds the perfect subject on which to test out his superhuman skin. Almodóvar begins in the present before backtracking to explain how Vera (Elena Anaya, Sex and Lucia) came to Ledgard's attention. Now, he keeps her locked in a room through which he observes her every move via surveillance cameras and one-way glass.
At all times, she wears a surprisingly flattering nude body stocking in order to heal properly, and spends her days reading Alice Munro novels and making Louise Bourgeois-inspired sculptures until Marilia's hotheaded son drops by, at which point the household dynamics spin out of control.
In adapting the late French writer Thierry Jonquet's 1984 crime novel Mygale, aka Tarantula, Almodóvar has embarked on his own perfectly-controlled project.
Like the lovely Vera, the film offers cool, attractive surfaces, but the secret behind the woman and the world she inhabits will chill you to the bone.
Images from Rex/PicHouse/Everett via The Guardian (Belén Rueda and ghost kid in The Orphanage), Slackerwood (Simon Baker in Not Forgotten), and the IMDb (Antonio Banderas and Elena Anaya in The Skin I Live In).
Here are two more lists I compiled for culturally-specific panels at Crypticon.
I didn't do any crowd-sourcing in these instances, so I'm more familiar with many of these films. Co-panelist and Crypticon programmer Jason Weiss came up with even longer lists; I've incorporated his Mexican and Spanish suggestions and may add his French ones later, in addition to other updates. For now, the first list ends in 2018 and the second in 2019.
As usual, I've ignored most sequels, though a few films, like [Rec], have spawned several. In order by release date, plus director, notable writers and/or cast members, country of origin (where relevant), and a few notes.
- The Beauty and the Beast / La Belle et la Bête (Jean Cocteau and René Clément; Jean Marais, 1948)
- Diabolique / Les Diaboliques(Henri-Georges Clouzot; Simone Signoret, Véra Clouzot, and Paul Meurisse, 1955)
- Eyes Without a Face / Les Yeux sans Visage (Georges Franju; author Jean Redon; Édith Scob and Alida Valli; composer Maurice Jarre, 1960)
Other works: abattoir documentary The Blood of Beasts / Le Sang des Bêtes (1948; included with the Criterion Collection edition). May have influenced: Seconds (John Frankenheimer, 1966) and Face/Off (John Woo, 1997).
- Daughters of the Darkness (Harry Kümel; Delphine Seyrig, English-language, Belgian, 1971) - Malpertuis (Harry Kümel; Orson Welles, Sylvie Vartan, and Jean-Pierre Cassel, Dutch, 1971)
- Trouble Every Day (Claire Denis; Vincent Gallo and Béatrice Dalle, 2001)
- High Tension / Haute Tension (Alexandre Aja; Cécile de France, Maïwenn, and Philippe Nahon [from Gaspar Noé’s I Stand Alone; we also mentioned Noé's Irréversible], 2003)
Also: The Hills Have Eyes remake (Aaron Stanford, 2006) and Mirrors (Keifer Sutherland; co-written by High Tension's Grégory Levasseur, 2008).
- Martyrs (Pascal Laugier, 2008)
Influenced: Us (Jordan Peele had Lupita Nyong'o watch it to prepare).
- They Came Back / The Revenants (Robin Campillo, 2004)
Serialized as The Revenants / The Returned (2012-2015). Other work: BPM (Beats per Minute) (Cannes Grand Prix, César Award for Best Film, 2017).
- Inside / À l'Intérieur (Julien Maury, 2007)
- Amer (Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, French-Belgian, 2009)
- The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears / L'Etrange Couleur des Larmes de Ton Corps (Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, 2013)
- Raw (Julia Ducournau, 2017)
- Let the Corpses Tan / Laissez Bronzer les Cadavres (Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, 2017)
- Revenge (Coralie Fargeat; Matilda Lutz, 2017)
English-language films with a French pedigree: Jacques Tourneur's Cat People, I Walked With a Zombie, and Night of the Demon; and two with Catherine Deneuve:Roman Polanski's Repulsion and Tony Scott's The Hunger.
SLICING UP EYEBALLS WITH SPANISH-LANGUAGE HORROR FROM LUIS BUÑUEL TO GUILLERMO DEL TORO AND BEYOND
Unlike the French films, many of the Spanish titles were dubbed into English, so only so many are actually in Spanish, even as the filmmakers are all native Spanish speakers, though--just to confuse the issue further--I've included made-in-English films from Spanish-speaking directors. I've also listed the mostly-free services by which I streamed some of these titles.
- Un Chien Andalou / An Andalusian Dog (Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí, Spanish, 1929)
- Drácula (George Melford, Carlos Villarías as Conde Drácula, Cuban/American, 1931) [YouTube]
- The Body Snatchers / El Ladron de Cadaveres (Fernando Mendez, 1957)
- The Vampire / El Vampiro (Fernando Mendez, 1957)
- Macario (Roberto Gavaldón, 1960)
- The Awful Dr. Orloff / Gritos en la Noche (Jesús Franco; Howard Vernon, Spanish, 1961)
Generally considered the first horror film produced in Spain.
- The Curse of the Crying Woman / La Maldición de la Llorona (Rafael Baledón, 1961)
- The Exterminating Angel / El Angel Exterminador (Luis Buñuel, 1962) [YouTube]
- Even the Wind Is Afraid / Hasta el Viento Tiene Miedo (Carlos Enrique Taboada, 1968)
- The Book of Stone / El Libro de Piedra (Carlos Enrique Taboada, 1969)
- The House That Screamed / La Residencia (Narciso Ibáñez Serrador, Uruguayan, 1969) [Tubi]
- Night of the Bloody Apes / La Horripilante Bestia Humana (René Cardona, 1969)
- She Killed in Ecstasy / Mrs. Hyde (Jesús Franco, 1971)
- Vampyros Lesbos / Las Vampiras (Jesús Franco, 1971)
- The Blood Spattered Bride / La Novia Ensangrentada (Vicente Aranda, 1972)
- Tombs of the Blind Dead / La Noche del Terror Ciego (Amando de Ossorio, Spanish, 1972) [Vudu]
- The Corruption of Chris Miller / La Corrupción de Chris Miller (Juan Antonio Bardem [Javier Bardem's uncle], 1973)
- Count Dracula's Great Love / El Gran Amor del Conde Drácula (Javier Aguirre, 1973)
- The Holy Mountain / La Montaña Sagrada (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1973)
- Horror Rises from the Tomb / El Espanto Surge de la Tumba (Carlos Aured, 1973)
- El Orfanato / The Orphanage (JA Bayona, Geraldine Chaplin cameo, Spanish, 2007)
- [Rec] 2 (Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza, 2009)
Geraldine Chaplin made seven films, including Cría Cuervos (1976), with then-partner Carlos Saura--and over 30 films with Spanish-speaking filmmakers. Ana Torrent from Cría Cuervos stars in Spirit of the Beehive.
- Julia's Eyes / Los Ojos de Julia (Guillem Morales, 2010)
- Psiconautas, los Niños Olvidados / Birdboy: The Forgotten Children (Alberto Vázquez and Pedro Rivero, animated, Spanish, 2016)
- The Untamed / La Región Salvaje (Amat Escalante, 2016)
- We Are the Flesh / Tenemos la Carne (Emilano Rocha Minter, 2016)
- El Bar / The Bar (Álex de la Iglesia, Spanish, 2017) [Netflix]
- Veronica / Verónica (Paco Plaza, 2017)
- La Casa Lobo/ The Wolf House (Joaquin Cociña and Cristóbal León, Chilean, stop motion, 2018)
- Vuelven / Tigers Are Not Afraid (Issa López, Mexican, 2017) [Prime]
- The Platform / El Hoyo (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, Spanish, 2019) [Netflix]
- La Llorona / The Weeping Woman (Jayro Bustamante, Guatemalan, 2019)
Note: the Spanish Civil War took place between 1936-39. Related: Francisco Franco held power between 1939-1975. A number of these films, like Spirit of the Beehive and Pan's Labyrinth, make reference to these developments.
David Greene's vivid, haunting film is a coming-of-age tale, a folk horror, a serial killer thriller, and a decidedly Catholic take on sex and death.
Though only 16 at the time, Jenny Agutter was not an inexperienced actress, but she brings an impetuousness to the role that makes her performance especially compelling. Though she grew blonder over the years, she has long, brown hair here and a makeup-free face; she acts even younger, which is appropriate for 14-year-old Catholic schoolgirl Wynne.
Drawing from UK writer Audrey Erskine Lindop's 1966 novel, Greene by way of screenwriter Richard Harris (not that one) never explains what happened to her birth parents or her foster father, and it doesn't really matter.
Wynne has a foster family consisting of a mother (A Clockwork Orange's Madge Ryan), a brother a few years older (I Could Go on Singing's Gregory Phillips), and another brother (The Spy Who Loved Me's Bryan Marshall) nearly 20 years her senior; younger brother Len (below right) suggests that their mother is divorced when he mentions that she didn't like her husband.
An older man (Billy Russell), an unbelievably noisy eater, joins them for meals and nights around the telly. Though Greene doesn't spell it out, he's their rather eccentric grandfather, first introduced through a frosted glass window fondling his pet mouse and looking more like a peeper than a relation. Maybe even both.
Wynne's social life revolves around her flirtatious friend, Corinne (Coronation Street's Clare Sutcliffe in her feature-film debut), who favors miniskirts. Wynne is no shrinking violet herself, though she dresses more modestly.
Greene opens on a bucolic scene: a serene pond, a walking path, and ancient trees that suggest a fairytale, but without any special effects. The folk-tinged baroque-pop theme song, also titled "I Start Counting," that plays over the opening credits makes everything seem slightly surreal.
Vocalist Lindsey Moore, about whom little is known, recalls Vashti Bunyan, which may have been intentional–Vashti's Jagger-Richards cover "Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind" debuted as a single in 1965–while predicting mesmerizing vocalists like Sarah Nixey of Black Box Recorder, Florence Shaw of Dry Cleaning, and the late Trish Keenan of Broadcast–the latter, as it turns out, were big fans of experimental composer Basil Kirchin (The Abominable Dr. Phibes). His brassy, dissonant score for Greene's 1967 The Shuttered Room, with Carol Lynley and Oliver Reed, is also a treat.
As cinematographer Alex Thomson, an Oscar winner for John Boorman's 1981 Excalibur, pans in on the pond, it becomes clear that something isn't quite right, even before he reveals what's wrong with this pretty picture: a brief glimpse of something partially obscured by underwater flora–the face of an attractive young woman staring sightlessly through dead eyes.
In only a few seconds, Greene establishes that things are not what they seem. The forest is quite lovely, but a serial killer is on the loose, and no young Berkshire County women, including Wynne and Corinne, are safe.
With her family, however, Wynne feels secure. She's the only Catholic, and she's fairly devout. There's a crucifix above her twin bed, and she dutifully confesses to a priest–not that she has much to confess. She's a teenager, though, and strange, possibly sinful feelings are stirring inside of her.
Boys her own age take an interest, but she couldn't be bothered--they have no chill. Corinne fancies her brother Len, a handsome lad who works at a swinging record store and hangs out with a local dealer (Michael Feast, having a ball), indicating that he enjoys the occasional lysergic escapade.
Len isn't a bad guy, but he could be, which is germane to Greene's non-didactic, non-judgmental take on a teenager's libido blinding her to the danger in her midst. It's one thing, after all, to be curious about a serial killer, a common teen obsession, but it's another to court his attention, and that's what Wynne does, under the pretext that he would never hurt her.
Granted, there are other men in her life, like the priest (Lewis Priander) and the solicitous conductor (Simon Ward) she and Corinne run into most every time they take the bus to her old neighborhood where they like to muck about in the condemned, two-story home in which Wynne grew up. This state of affairs suggests both a reduction in income and encroaching gentrification, since the Kinch clan now live in a tower block in bland, suburban Bracknell, parts of which appears to be under construction.
Then there's George, the virile 32-year-old brother who lives at home, presumably to help support his family. Even the blond, blue-eyed conductor is handsome, giving Wynne yet another crush option, except he mostly makes eyes at Corinne whose miniskirts rise up when she sits down, though it's something he also criticizes, admonishing, "Your skirts are too short."
When George gazes longingly at a black-and-white photo of him and a young woman, Greene suggests a lost love (a flashback reveals a fatal fall). He's single now, and gainfully employed. He also dotes on Wynne, who has developed a major crush, which would be bad enough, except she also believes he's the killer, since he's been leaving clues about a secret life.
From the start, Greene confirms that she's right about the secret, but doesn't explain whether or not he's the killer--until the end--but what should scare Wynne away, compels her. The director doesn't provide a reason, and nor is it necessary. The film would be less intriguing, less resonant if he did.
If you were ever a teenage girl, you probably had a crush at some point on the worst person. Not the worst in terms of their persona, but the worst for you. We've all been there. Though a man could have written the novel, I'm not surprised that a woman did, and though it would have been interesting to see how a woman would have adapted it, Greene always honors Wynne's perspective, as blinkered as it may be. Everything unfolds through her eyes.
George prepares for each day with the bathroom door open, so she watches him shave and put on his shirt, but nothing more intimate than that.
One day, she notices scratches on his back, presumably from a woman's nails. Later, since she spies on him whenever she can, she catches him placing a package in the garbage cans outside their building. When she gets the chance, she snatches the bundle and brings it back to her room, where she opens it up to find a cream-colored sweater with a sizable blood stain.
She doesn't tell Corinne, she doesn't confront George, and she doesn't inform the authorities; she simply ramps up her campaign of surveillance. Greene suggests that it's possibly even a turn-on. A contemporary filmmaker might be more explicit, but I prefer his subtlety and restraint.
She has fantasies, for instance, like one in which her hand slides under her crisp, white sheets while thinking about George--and as Christ looks down from the cross above--or when she's taking a bath, and he walks in, and places a hand on her shoulder. She quickly comes to, which keeps Greene on the right side of the censors, but also suggests that she doesn't know what would happen next. She's a virgin, and it's possible that Corinne is, too, though she brags that she's had sex seven times. "Seven!," she yells.
Wynne also asks George questions designed to trip him up, but phrased so that they sound as innocuous as possible. It mostly confuses him. "You're a funny little biscuit," he responds to one of her odd inquiries. He knows about the crush, but seems oblivious to her suspicions.
In addition to fantasies, Greene inserts flashbacks, like one in which Wynne remembers George handing her a silver foil-wrapped box for her birthday, while everyone looks on eagerly. She opens it to find a white rabbit with red eyes and a Victorian outfit. I believe he's meant to recall Lewis Carroll's White Rabbit–which makes Wynne Alice and the forest her Wonderland.
The rabbit is, frankly, pretty scary-looking, but Wynne hugs and even sleeps with it in a way that suggests she's still a child, and also that she associates the creature with the handsome human who gave it to her. If anything, she appears to imagine she's embracing his body rather than that of a toy.
To protect George, she returns to the old house and incinerates the sweater using the cast iron stove. Each time, Greene makes it clear that someone is both following and spying on her, whether she's with Corinne or not.
We learn more about George when Wynne visits him at work. The film's only nudity is plastered all over the wall: dozens of nudie cuties. It's yet another sign that he prefers adult women, though she barely notices. She's so besotted that she believes love is all he needs, explaining, "When people have people who love them, they don't have to worry about anything." Later, she tells him, "I understand you, and I don't want anyone to hurt you."
In other words, he'll stop the strangling once he accepts Wynne as his savior. He never takes the hint, because he always sees her as a child.
That doesn't mean her crush has no basis in reality. George may not see her as an adult, but he sees her in a way no one else does. She's neither alone nor lonely, just a little odd, and he's always happy to humor her oddities and to give her a ride whenever he has time. He even tells her she's pretty, though she seems more embarrassed than flattered by the compliment.
As her campaign heats up, she makes mistakes, finds out things she wishes she hadn't–not necessarily what she expected–and gets in trouble, but Greene never overplays his hand.
(The scene in which she overindulges in George's hooch is hilarious.) Wynne even tries to seduce him, the most cringe-worthy thing she could do. I've gone to bat for melodrama, but that isn't what's happening here. Though not quite a kitchen sink drama, it's more grounded than that, but nor is it a tragedy or full-blown cautionary tale. Unlike some women in the film, Wynne will live to make more mistakes in the future, but falling for another potential murderer seems unlikely.
I went into I Start Counting cold, other than an encounter by way of Kier-La Janisse's wonderful 2021 documentary, Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched: A History of Folk Horror–I credit her for encouraging me to track it down–and didn't know how things would end, but the metaphor of the house in the woods becomes crystal clear. (Though it doesn't appear in Janisse's 2012 book, House of Psychotic Women, the film would fit right in.)
The storyline is neither wholly unpredictable, nor otherwise. Wynne gets an education in adulthood, sex, and life, and it's consistently gripping, due largely to Jenny Agutter and her touching vulnerability combined with a certain fearlessness, but everything–and everyone else–lives up to it.
Compared to the films with which it shares thematic similarities, like Michael Powell's Peeping Tom, Jerzy Skolimowksi's Deep End, and even Hitchcock's lurid Frenzy (which features Madge Ryan), I Start Counting is a gentler proposition, but what it suggests about the lure of danger, the compulsion to control the object of one's affection, and the invincible power of love, is every bit as dark. It's just that it's filtered through an adolescent worldview.
In her commentary track, Samm Deighan mentions an earlier Hitchcock film: 1943's Shadow of a Doubt with Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotton. Though it didn't occur to me until she mentioned it, she's right. Uncle Charlie is more problematic than George, but the film also revolves around a young woman's affinity for a man to whom she just happens to be related.
Hitchcock made the film during the height of the production code, and he had to be more circumspect than Greene, though I don't recall any sexual spark between the two, but like Wynne, Charlie sees her uncle as something other than who he actually is, while the elder Charlie–they share the same name–makes her feel seen. She may bring out his best qualities, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a bad man. Nor does it mean his affection for her is insincere, assuming a sociopath is capable of affection, and therein lies the tragedy, because she loves him, but he's beyond redemption.
In short order, Agutter would go on to star in Walkabout, Logan's Run, and An American Werewolf in London–setting hearts aflame all the while–but she doesn't just play a minor in Greene's film. As she reveals in the interview included with the restored Fun City Editions Blu-ray, "He told the entire crew not to swear in front of me." It's doubtful he issued the same proclamation regarding Clare Sutcliffe. Though she successfully passes for an obnoxious, self-obsessed teenager, Sutcliffe was a full decade older than Agutter–and five years older than the more mature-looking Gregory Phillips.
I've continued to enjoy the now-73-year-old Agutter's performances on British television shows that often turn up on PBS, like Spooks–MI-5 in the States–and Call the Midwife, now in its 15th season, in which the actress who once appeared fully nude in a Nicolas Roeg picture at 16, plays Sister Julienne, a fully-covered Mother Superior. She does quite a nice job, too, in a role with faint echoes of the devout schoolgirl she played 56 years ago.
I Start Counting is now out of print in the States, though a Region 2 edition exists through the British Film Institute, and it's packed with twice as many extra features, including the 2020 interview with Agutter and Deighan's informative, context-rich commentary. Used copies of the former now go for as much as $129.99 on eBay, though less expensive copies abound.
I have faith that the film will return to home video in the States in the not-too-distant future. Thanks to Kier-La Janisse and other influential enthusiasts, it's unlikely to ever disappear completely and consistently likely to discomfort and bedazzle each new viewer who makes its acquaintance.
Images: ithankyou (Jenny Agutter), Mondo Digital (Billy Russell, Madge Ryan, and Gregory Phillips), the IMDb (Berkshire forest, Agutter in forest, and Agutter and Bryan Marshall), Trailers from Hell (Agutter and Clare Sutcliffe), The Kim Newman Web Site (Agutter and Marshall), Fopp (Agutter and creepy rabbit), Cinema Retro (Agutter and Marshall), American Cinematheque (Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotten), and eBay (Walkabout).
Coverage of the Seattle International Film Festival and year-round art house programming in the Pacific Northwest.
Kathy Fennessy is former president of Seattle Film Critics Society, a Northwest Film Forum board member, and a Tomatometer-approved critic. She writes or has written for Amazon, Minneapolis's City Pages, Resonance, Rock and Roll Globe, Seattle Sound, and The Stranger.
C-D
